Journeys
by AKAtheCentimetre
Summary: A quick oneshot which takes place after the events of The High King. Gwydion, Prince of Don, makes his final journey. Fflewddur, Dallben, and Gurgi also make appearances.


Hi everyone… look! I'm alive!!! Well, sort of. I bring this fic as a proverbial plea for forgiveness for neglecting Prydain for so long…I promise, I PROMISE I will update my Gwydion epic soon – I've been busy preparing for the most hectic year of my life (senior year of HS, college, driving (!!!)) and so I threw my writing out the window for a while. But I hope this little oneshot will make up for it – at least for a little while. Y'all are fantastic!!

**Disclaimer:** Prydain and all its magic belongs to Lloyd Alexander – may he rest in peace.

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**Journeys**

To say that Gwydion, Prince of Don and former High King of Prydain was not relieved when he stepped onto the deck of the ship that would take him on his final journey, would have been a lie.

A seemingly unbelievable, regret-filled lie, but a lie nonetheless.

The shaggy-haired Prince, normally so observant, so intelligent and focused, found as he maintained his balance on the gently rocking planks that he could not remember much of the farewells he had made on the shore which was so rapidly disappearing behind him. Half-obscured images swam through his mind, of soldiers pressing close for a final, eager display of loyalty to their departing war leader – Taran, his face pale and thin, yet lit from behind by a curious light of determination and love – Eilonwy throwing her arms around him, as spirited as ever, kissing his weather-beaten cheek before she withdrew, smiling through her tears. The trip down to the white beach where the ancient, faithful ships of the House of Don waited, the flying of banners and the murmuring of the solemn crowd that had gathered as the sails slowly filled and drew the heavy vessels into open water –

But now there was nothing but the waves and the wind, the gradually setting, blood-red sun, and a silence so penetrating that Gwydion found himself hardly daring to breathe for fear of breaking something which seemed at once both fragile and never-ending.

The prince's feelings churned within him, sadness for leaving behind his beloved home battling with aching, painful joy at the thought of the peace which he had helped create. Grief for the loss of the dead – faces swam into his mind's eye, those of Coll and Math and Achren, staring up at him – he firmly pushed them away, unable to cope with the idea of yet further mourning.

And over all of this, a bone-deep, shattering weariness – he was tired of the memories he carried, of fighting, felt as though the iron he had hefted in his fist for so long had somehow wormed its way down into his heart and had planted itself there, painfully digging in its roots.

All he could hope for was respite. Beyond that, he had ceased to care.

Footsteps, halting and light, sounded suddenly on the creaking deck behind him. All Gwydion's muscles tensed, the result of many years of vigilance and nerves being always on edge for danger. He had to take a few moments to compose himself as the footsteps neared, reminding himself that he was in no danger.

"I suppose this is all for the best, really," a gloomy voice intoned from over his shoulder.

Turning, he saw the almost skeletally thin Fflewddur Fflam making his way towards where the prince stood, looking much how Gwydion felt. The bard's hair, normally the dull yellow of dry straw, seemed to shine golden under the beating sun. In constant to this strange beauty, his face was drawn and haggard, and his teeth worried at his lower lip, his eyes darting around the ship as though he expected enemies to leap out of every nook and cranny.

Gwydion frowned at the obvious distress of his House member – nay, his friend and valued colleague. Over the years they had known each other, he had developed a strong affection for the puzzled and often puzzling bard, respecting his compassion and obviously consistent (though it may not have looked so to a stranger) bravery and courage. And, of course, there was the fact that Gwydion himself owed the harper his life. For his part, the Prince of Don hoped he had been a good liege lord to Fflewddur – and that the valiant Fflam had come to view him as a friend, instead of just a master.

"Tell me what is on your mind," he said softly.

"I – I feel – " For the first time after the destruction of his beloved harp – a tale which had been meticulously and sadly recounted to Gwydion by Taran – the thatch-haired bard seemed at a loss for words. "I feel – guilty. For leaving them. I know it's a dratted awful thing to say, lack of confidence and all that…but I worry, you see," he finished miserably, seemingly unable to look Gwydion in the eye.

The prince laid a hand on Fflewddur's shoulder, his chest feeling heavy despite the beauty of the dusk around them. "As do I, my friend. But – "

"But there is no reason to," a tired, husky voice said behind them.

Dallben laboriously trudged to the side of the two watchers, his robes flapping about his knees in the breeze, leaning heavily on his staff. The years of pain and age he had lived during his tenure at Caer Dallben showed clearly on his face, mixed through and through with sorrow at the memory of his faithful gardener, now lying under the dusty red soil of the Fallows. Both Gwydion and Fflewddur remained respectfully silent as Dallben came up beside them, for although the two men were anything but young themselves, they were but children to the enchanter's eyes.

"There is no reason to worry," Dallben repeated again as he finally reached the two companions and settled himself with a sigh of exhaustion against the ship's wooden side. "That you do so does you credit, but it does them no justice."

Fflewddur instantly hung his head in shame. There was a long moment of silence, broken onto by the lapping of the waves under the ship's keel as they cut through the water. Somewhere above them, a seabird called out raucously.

"Master will not fail," a cheerful voice suddenly called out from above. Glancing upwards, Gwydion caught a glimpse of Gurgi, swinging joyously from rope to rope among the sails, just as he had done in the treetops of Prydain.

The furry half-man paused for a moment in his frolicking, grasping the edge of a sail and beaming down at the little group on the deck. "Master has the princess," he called out. "Master is wise and brave, and in love. Master will not fail."

And without another word he was off again, disappearing into the billowing swathes of white. Dallben looked at Fflewddur, who was gazing upwards with a look of something like rapture on his face. It seemed to Gwydion then that Dallben's gaze softened, and the enchanter's lips curved in the tiniest of smiles.

"No man could say it better," the old man sighed, picking himself up from where he had been leaning, shuffling back towards the stern of the ship, his back bowed and silver beard gleaming in the dying sunlight.

Gwydion turned to Fflewddur. The bard's face was peaceful now, illuminated with gold from the sunset. He turned to Gwydion, his infectious grin spreading from ear to large ear. His inclined his head quickly to the Prince, and then turned away to follow Dallben, humming under his breath.

A sudden twinge of pain made Gwydion frown – he laid a hand gently on his ribs, over the spot where a Hunstman had slid in his dagger, the scar tissue around the wound still slightly tender. Had it really been only a few months since Fflewddur had carried him across Dallben's threshold, nearer than he had ever been to death?

He leaned against the bulkhead, kneading his side slowly with his fingers – and then the bottom edge of the sun suddenly met the horizon, and the pain seemed to drain away like water. In the distance, a dark shape emerged into the light, its edges slowly falling away into coastlines, white cliffs, and a beach which shone so brightly in the setting sun that Gwydion had to squint, his heart thumping in his chest – though whether with sadness or ecstasy, he could not tell.

The Prince of Don did not hear Gurgi's squeak of excitement from his perch on the mast, nor Fflewddur's gasp of surprise or Dallben's long sigh, as if celebrating some momentous relief.

He was content to smile and watch the sun set on the sea.

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**Hope this was enjoyable, or at least passable (really need a beta! Argh.) …again, I'm so sorry for my delays with my other fic. I'll get there eventually!**


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